


'Til the End of the Line

by ConstantWriter85



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5 and 1 fic, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Howling Commandos - Freeform, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Injury, M/M, Not Captain America: The First Avenger Compliant, Oneshot, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve, Protective Steve Rogers, Sickfic, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stucky - Freeform, Whump, hydra train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantWriter85/pseuds/ConstantWriter85
Summary: When Bucky falls to his apparent death from the Hydra Train in 1945, Steve does the right thing and goes back for his friend.orFive times Bucky saved Steve, and one time Steve saved him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 160





	'Til the End of the Line

“Bucky! Hang on!”

Air is rushing past him, frigid and deadly.

“Steve!”

“Grab my hand!”

The railing snaps.

He falls.

“No!”

Darkness.

*

_1925_

He heard the fight before he saw it…if you even wanted to call it that. Three kids were crowded around a fourth, kicking him while he lay curled up on the ground. Bucky felt his face flush with anger; he knew these kids, and they were bullies.

He couldn’t stand bullies.

Bucky started over towards them and was amazed to see the smaller kid pick himself up off the ground, shakily raising both his fists.

“C’mon, you assholes…I can do this all day.”

One of the older boys’ fists connected with the side of his head, and the little kid dropped like a stone, shaking his head dazedly.

“Hey!” Bucky shouted, getting their attention, “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size!”

The older boys stood, sizing up the new threat. Bucky wasn’t as big as them, but he was tall and muscular for his age. He wasn’t a fighter by nature, but he knew how to handle himself in a fight.

He dropped his books on the ground and stepped in front of the smaller boy.

“Leave him alone.”

“Or what, Barnes?” one of the boys jeered.

“Or you can deal with me.”

The boy on his left lunged towards him, aiming a kick at Bucky’s knees. Bucky stepped into him and shoved both hands against the boy’s chest, knocking him squarely on his backside. The boy on his right tried to take advantage of the distraction, and he grabbed Bucky’s arm roughly and pinned it behind his back. Bucky swung his free arm and popped him in the face, his fist solidly connecting with the boy’s nose and turning it into a brilliant display of blood and gore.

The two bullies stopped in their tracks, their eyes wide as they watched their friend howl and writhe on the ground, holding his broken nose. Bucky started towards them and the hurriedly scooped their friend up off the ground and ran away across the schoolyard.

Bucky turned back towards the smaller kid, who was picking himself off the ground, his hand pressed against his ribs and gritting his teeth. He stumbled, and Bucky reached out a hand to steady him.

“Woah…it’s okay, I got ya.”

The boy was much shorter than Bucky, with delicate features and light blond hair—he was so thin it looked like a stiff breeze would blow him away. He had a black eye and a split lip, but he stood tall on his feet and looked Bucky dead in the eye.

Bucky shook his head in amazement and chuckled dryly.

“Whatdya got a death wish or somethin’? Those kids were twice your size.”

“They were messin’ with this girl…I don’t like bullies.” The kid jutted out his chin as if in challenge.

“I don’t either,” Bucky said. He stuck out his hand. “I’m James Barnes, but everyone just calls me Bucky.”

“Steve…Steve Rogers.” He was still eyeing Bucky suspiciously, but he shook his hand anyway. Steve bent down and picked up Bucky’s books from the ground and handed them to him with a tentative smile.

“Thanks, um…for helping me out.”

“It looked a little one-sided.”

“I had them on the ropes.”

Bucky chuckled and shook his head, taking the books from Steve. “Say--you wanna go try and sneak in the Gem? They’re playin’ _The Lost World_ and old man Peabody always falls asleep during the afternoon show.”

“That the one with the dinosaurs?” Steve asked.

“Yeah.”

Steve brightened, a smile lighting up his face. “Yeah…let’s go.”

*

The first thing he felt was the cold.

He hadn’t ever remembered being this cold.

Bucky shivered and tried to open his eyes—they felt like they were glued shut. Finally he managed to pry them open, and he blinked as his vision swam.

Rocks.

Rocks and trees and snow.

He was lying on his back at the bottom of a deep ravine, looking up at dark clouds that threatened snow.

Steve.

Where’s Steve?

The train.

Oh, fuck.

Something warm and sticky was running in his eye. Bucky tried to raise his hand to his face, but his arm didn’t want to cooperate. A dull pain was starting to seep in now, radiating through every inch of his body, and he began to tremble.

He was hurt. Bad.

_Steve…where are you?_

Bucky tried to raise his head, to see how bad it really was, but as soon as he moved it felt like his skull split in two. He groaned and lifted his hands to his face—only his right arm moved freely, and he felt a searing pain shoot down his left arm.

Ignoring the dull throb behind his eyes, he stiffly turned his head to the left, wanting to see what was wrong with his arm. Probably broken or—

Gone. His arm was gone.

His left arm was a shock of blood and gore, ending in a ragged stump just above where his elbow should be. Blood was still pulsing out of the wound in rhythmic spurts, and he felt his stomach clench in panic.

_Tourniquet. Stop the bleeding. Now._

Bucky’s right hand fumbled at his belt, frantically trying to take it off. His heart was pounding, his breath coming in ragged gasps as adrenaline took over and temporarily blocked out the pain.

Finally the belt was off, and he fell back, panting.

_Better get moving, Barnes, or you’re going to bleed to death in this fucking canyon and you’re never going to see Steve again._

Bucky’s hand shook as he looped the belt around his ruined arm. He almost dropped it twice. He pulled the belt as tightly as he could, and a white heat flared in his chest along the left side.

Bucky screamed.

His vision doubled, greying at the edges. He roughly pushed the prong of the buckle through the leather, and the makeshift tourniquet held. Bucky collapsed back against the snow as a wave of pain and nausea swept over him, threatening to drag him under.

“S…Steve,” he murmured weakly. “Steve…please…”

Darkness claimed him once again.

*

_1932_

“Steve—Steve!”

Just a moment ago Steve had been walking alongside Bucky and his sister Rebecca, the three of them headed to the park. It was windy and cool out—Bucky had been worried about the weather affecting his friend, but Steve had assured him that he would be fine.

Now he couldn’t breathe.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s having an asthma attack.” Bucky looked up at his sister, his eyes wide with panic. “Becca, go get Sarah!”

Bucky dropped to his knees next to Steve and pulled him into his arms. He sat back against the side of the building, not caring about the soot and grime that immediately coated them both. Steve was shaking and clutching his chest, his head thrown back against Bucky as he struggled to draw a breath.

“Shh…it’s okay, Stevie…I got you,” he murmured into Steve’s ear as he held him tightly. “You just gotta calm down, okay? Breathe.”

Steve shook his head, panicked. “I c-can’t, Buck.”

“Yes, you can—you punk. You’re talkin’ to me, ain’t ya? That means you’re breathin’,” Bucky argued stubbornly. “Becca’s gone to get your Ma…you’re gonna be fine. Now, c’mon…just calm down.”

“B-Buck…please,” Steve whined, a high raspy sound.

Despite his reassuring words, Bucky was terrified. He was glad Steve couldn’t see his face—how pale and scared he must look. Bucky pressed his hand to Steve’s chest, drawing him closer. Beneath his palm he could feel Steve’s heart beating, fast and erratic.

“Stevie—Steve! Focus, now. Can you feel me here, behind you? Feel my chest—try to match your breathing to mine.” Bucky took a couple of slow, deep breaths, and he felt Steve mimic them. “That’s it, Stevie…just breathe with me.”

They sat there for a while, Steve’s tiny, frail body wrapped in Bucky’s arms. Gradually, Steve’s breathing evened out and he collapsed back against his friend, exhausted.

Bucky felt his eyes start to burn and sniffed back the tears that threatened to fall. God—he was so scared. It was sometimes easy to forget how fragile Steve was, with his bold talk and unrepentant bravery; it was times like this, though, where Bucky was harshly reminded of his friend’s frailties.

He loved Steve—that much was obvious to him. Steve was his best friend, his brother, his…world. Bucky was there for him, through every sickness, every injury. He couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to Steve—his Stevie.

Steve’s mom said her boy was living on borrowed time…well, not if Bucky could help it.

“Thanks, Buck…I thought I was a goner,” Steve croaked.

“Stow it, ya punk. You ain’t dyin’ on my watch,” Bucky chuckled dryly and wiped at the wetness on his face. He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against Steve’s head, his hair sweet and soft as feather down.

“You ain’t cryin, are ya?” Steve asked worriedly.

“Nope, just the wind…makin’ my eyes sting. We could’ve stayed home today yet here we are, on our asses in a freezin’ alley.”

“You’re a terrible liar…jerk.” Steve snuggled closer to Bucky.

“Punk.”

*

Bucky was in agony.

It was still light out when he awoke—whether it was minutes or hours later, he didn’t know. It didn’t really matter, when the minutes stretched into hours anyway.

His chest was on fire, every breath feeling like a knife was being driven between his ribs. Pain radiating from his arm nearly matched the intensity of the pain in his right leg, throbbing with every beat of his heart. He didn’t want to look at his leg—not after seeing his arm. If that was gone too there wasn’t anything to be done about it anyway.

He couldn’t think straight—he spent one minute scared he would die and the next scared he wouldn’t.

God…he just wanted it to stop.

He just wanted Steve.

Bucky coughed, the sound thick and wet, and he tasted blood in his mouth. He groaned, feeling his eyes start to burn.

He was so scared.

And alone.

He needed Steve…Steve would make it better…he would know what to do.

“Steve!” he screamed—or at least he thought he did. Only a weak sob came out as he choked on the coppery liquid pooling in his mouth.

Bucky coughed and spat red on the snow.

“Steve…where are you…please, help me.”

Another wave of pain washed over him, its intensity spiking and making him tremble. He shut is eyes tightly against it, gritting his teeth as tears traced bloody tracks down his cheeks.

There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears, and he knew he would pass out again soon.

This time, he gave in.

*

_1937_

“Steve—run!” Bucky shouted. He ran to the end of the alley, bringing his fists up and setting his heels.

“No! Not without you!”

“Steve, get the fuck outta here—they’ll kill you!”

“Wha—What about you?” There was a desperate, pleading note in Steve’s voice, and Bucky’s stomach clenched.

He didn’t want to make Steve go, but there was no way they could both outrun these thugs. The best he could hope for would be to hold them off while Steve got to safety. Bucky had seen what men like this did to suspected _queers_ and wasn’t about to let Steve be on the receiving end of that.

“I’ll be fine, go!”

Finally, he heard Steve’s footsteps retreating down the alley, and he closed his eyes in relief, grateful that the little punk had listened to him for once.

“Where’d your little friend go, huh?” one of the thugs taunted as they closed in. “Don’t worry, we’ll track him down after we’re done with you.”

Bucky said nothing, just held his ground.

They descended upon him.

Bucky grit his teeth and threw punch after punch, deadly and precise with a cold, insane gleam in his eye. He didn’t want to fight anyone, but he’d kill every last one of these thugs if it meant keeping Steve safe.

He seemed to be gaining the upper hand when one of his attackers landed a lucky blow to his kidneys, instantly driving him to his knees.

“Think you’re so tough now…” the man began, circling Bucky’s body. “You’re gonna be beggin’ for death by the time I get through with you.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to where Steve hid at the end of the alley. Drawing himself up on his feet again, he spat at the man’s shoes and raised his fists.

The man laughed cruelly. “Big mistake—you should’ve just stayed down.”

In a flurry of motion, he grabbed Bucky by the hair and viciously threw him against the wall. Bucky tried to scramble back to his feet, but they were already upon him. They kicked him. They punched him—blood flecking against the dingy walls of the alley. Every time he tried to get up, they pushed him back down until he finally couldn’t get up anymore.

Finally, they tired of the game. “Is he dead?” one of the goons asked. Bucky’s eyes were glued shut, but he could still hear them.

“Don’t know…don’t really care,” one said.

“What about that other one?”

“We’ll get ‘em some other day—I’m thirsty, let’s go grab a brew.”

Bucky heard their laughter as they moved away down the alley and disappeared. Groaning, he rolled on his side and tried to get up but collapsed back against the pavement, gasping.

“B—Bucky? Oh, my god…”

Steve was there. He could feel Steve’s hands, small and cold, pass over his face as his friend drew Bucky’s head into his lap.

“Mm…’m okay…” he slurred. Bucky finally pried his eyelids open, and his eyes rolled in his head before latching onto Steve’s.

He looked like an angel. Illumination from the streetlight caught against the suspended droplets of mist, creating an ethereal halo around his golden hair. Impossibly blue eyes gazed worriedly down at him. Bucky had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

He started to reach a trembling hand up to caress that sweet face, but instead he disintegrated into a coughing fit. Bucky clutched his ribs and grimaced.

“Buck…we’ve got to get you to a doctor.”

“You…you know we can’t afford that,” Bucky gasped. “I’ll be fine. Just…just get me on my feet.”

It took all of Steve’s strength to pull the larger man up from the ground, but he did it.

“Am I on my feet?” Bucky asked. He swayed, and Steve caught him.

“Yeah, Buck…you’re on your feet,” Steve’s voice broke. “I’ve got you.”

They walked the couple blocks to their apartment, Bucky leaning heavily on Steve. He almost thought they wouldn’t make it up the three flights of stairs, but they finally made it to the front door.

Steve leaned Bucky against the doorframe as he fumbled for his keys. Leading him in the apartment, Steve sat him down at the kitchen table and bustled around the room, collecting some hot water and bandages.

“Why, Buck…why did you do that?” Steve’s eyes were large and wet, his mouth set in a grim line as he gently cleaned the blood from Bucky’s face and out of his hair. “Why’d you make me go?”

Bucky winced. “You know we b--both couldn’t outrun ‘em, and I wasn’t about to let them t—touch you.”

Steve caressed Bucky’s cheek, the one place that wasn’t bruised or bloody. “Look at you…”

Bucky closed his eyes and leaned into the gentle touch. “I love you, Stevie.” He felt soft lips press against his, and he sighed into the kiss.

“I love you too, you jerk. Don’t ever scare me like this again—I’m not worth it.”

“Oh yes you are,” Bucky smiled weakly, “you’re worth it to me. I ain’t ever leavin’ you.” He cupped the back of Steve’s head and drew him in for another kiss, soft and sweet.

“I’m with you ‘till the end of the line, pal.”

*

Pain, Bucky had learned, was like a tide, drifting in and out with lazy certainty.

Right now, the tide was out.

He supposed he was in shock—it was still hard to focus his eyes, but at least he could think. And feel something other than pain.

What he felt right now was cold.

Cold and wet.

He knew he was bleeding internally—he could hear the wet gurgle with each breath he took. Rib must have nicked a lung. Nothing to be done about that, though.

What worried him now was the cold. Snow had started to fall again, catching in his eyelashes and hair. He was still laying on his back at the bottom of the ravine, and he could feel the snow melting its way through his clothes, making him shiver.

If he didn’t get out of the elements he was going to freeze to death.

Twisting his head, he spied an outcropping about fifty yards away. It was small, but it was dry and would protect him until Steve came.

If Steve came.

_No. He’s coming…I know he is._

He just had to hang on until Steve got there—he wasn’t giving up yet.

Bucky raised his right arm, scrabbling for purchase against the rocks. He pushed with his left leg—the right was clearly broken, he knew that now—and began to inch his way along the floor of the ravine. Pain lanced white-hot through his chest, but he was able to bite it back this time.

Minutes passed as he crept along steadily until he fell back against the snow, exhausted and shaking. His heart was pounding, and he tried to catch his breath before dissolving into a coughing fit. Blood trickled down his chin and he weakly raised his head to see how far he’d gone.

About fifteen yards.

Bucky closed his eyes in despair.

The tide was coming in again.

*

_1942_

Bucky was tired—dead tired. Steve had pneumonia again, and Bucky had picked up a few extra shifts at the cannery so they could get the medicine he needed. He knew Steve was going to be sore at him—he hated it when Bucky pulled doubles just so they could afford his medicine. What were they to do, though? It had been a brutal winter, and the heating in their apartment was shoddy at best. Steve tried to work when he could, but with his weak lungs the pneumonia was inevitable and they both knew it.

Bucky fingered the piece of paper in his hand as he trudged up the five flights to their door. He hated it, but this little slip of paper could mean safety and security for Steve.

It was a draft notice.

Bucky had gone down to the draft office first thing this morning, trying to talk his way out of it. Steve needed him—who was going to take care of him when he got sick and keep him out of trouble? He pleaded with the officer but got little sympathy.

_“I’m sorry son, but you’re 1-A…healthy as a horse. Uncle Sam needs people like you to help win this fight.”_

_“Please sir, Steve…my…my brother needs me,” he pleaded. It was a little lie, but who cared. “He’s sick, he can’t work sometimes…he needs medicine.”_

_“So send your paycheck to him. That’s what most fellas do if they’ve got a sick relative back home.” The officer handed him a basic pay chart and his draft card and hollered, “Next!”_

Bucky had been shocked when he saw the basic pay for a boot private—it was almost twice what he made down at the docks. And in a few months, if everything went well, he could advance to sergeant, where the pay was even better. Steve could move into a better apartment—one with hot water and better heating. Maybe even one on the first floor so he wouldn’t have to walk up all those goddamn steps.

Bucky was scared. He didn’t want to leave Steve, but this was the best way to keep him healthy and safe. He knew Steve would never be drafted, not with all his medical conditions. Steve was frustrated—he actually _wanted_ to go over there.

The skinny little kid who was too dumb to run away from a fight.

Bucky didn’t want to go. He wasn’t a fighter by nature; it was just something he was good at. He had hoped the war would be over quickly, that the draft wouldn’t catch up to him. But it had.

What was he going to tell Steve?

He turned his key in the lock and pushed open the front door. “Hey punk, I’m home,” he called as he set the medicine on the kitchen table. Bucky walked to the stove and lit it, and he set a small pot of soup on to heat.

“Stevie?” he walked into the bedroom, worried that Steve hadn’t answered. Steve was curled in the fetal position on the bed, blankets wrapped around him and visibly shivering.

“Aw, jeez…Steve…” he leaned down and passed his hand over the smaller man’s brow. No fever—that was something, at least.

“I’m s—sorry Buck,” Steve wheezed, “I wanted to have dinner on for when you g—got home, but…I’m just so cold.”

“Well, lucky for you I’m built like a human furnace,” Bucky chuckled lightly as he stripped off his clothes, right down to his undershirt and shorts. “I already put the soup on. We can have it after we get you warmed up some. I also picked up your medicine…it should help with the congestion.”

Bucky climbed into bed, pulling Steve into his arms and drawing the covers tightly around them both. Steve’s limbs were like ice, and Bucky didn’t like the gurgling rasp he heard with every breath. He cradled Steve’s head against his chest and slowly ran his hands up and down his back.

“It’s this goddamn apartment,” Bucky muttered angrily. “Might as well set up a tent out in the middle of the park, for all the good this place does.” His mouth thinned into a grim line, and he pressed his cheek to the top of Steve’s head.

“Don’t you worry, Stevie. One of these days, we’re going to move into a proper place, with heat and hot water…a bed that doesn’t feel like two boards on a cinderblock…”

Steve pulled back and looked up at him, worried. “How are we gonna do that? We can barely afford this place…I don’t want you pulling any more extra shifts on my account. You’re workin’ yourself to death.” His fingers lightly brushed the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes, trailing down his cheeks. Bucky closed his eyes and sighed at the touch; Steve’s fingers were cold, but he didn’t mind.

“You’re too good to me, Buck.” Steve gripped him as tightly as he could. “I hate being like this…so weak all the time. You always hafta take care of me…my stupid lungs and heart…I wish I was different.”

Bucky tilted Steve’s face so he could look him right in the eye. “Now you listen here, punk. You’re exactly how you’re supposed to be…beautiful, inside and out. I love every inch of you, and I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

He thought again about the draft notice, hastily shoved in his back pocket. He would have to find a way to tell Steve, but now was not the time.

“You know I would do anything for you, right Stevie? You take care of me too, more than you realize—I would be a wreck without you. I…I need you, Steve. Always have.” Bucky gently grazed his lips against Steve’s, sighing as he felt Steve’s hand reach up and card lovingly through his hair.

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve whispered, leaning into the kiss.

Bucky smiled. “I love you too, Steve.” He noticed that Steve had stopped shivering, but the rasp in his lungs seemed worse. “Think you can sit up a little? We’ve got to get some of this medicine in ya.”

He helped Steve sit up and take the medicine, holding the spoon for him when his hands started shaking. “Shh…it’s okay…I’ve got you,” he said, his brow creased with worry.

Steve collapsed back against him, his eyes drifting closed. Bucky knew he should make Steve eat some of the soup too, but Steve was exhausted. Instead, Bucky cradled him in his arms, drawing the covers around them again. He was tired too, but sleep wasn’t going to come easy for him tonight.

His time with Steve was limited now--the draft notice burning a hole in the back of his mind, taunting him with the ship out date that crawled nearer with every minute. After that date, who knew what was going to happen?

Bucky gripped Steve tighter as icy fingers of fear tightened around his heart. He didn’t know how many more of these moments he would have left with Steve, but he was going to cherish each one he was given.

*

Bucky was dying.

It was dark now. When the last of the daylight had left, so had the pain. Now all he felt was the cold and a creeping numbness radiating though his limbs. His heart labored weakly in his chest, and it was getting hard to breathe.

He supposed it wouldn’t be long, now.

Bucky fought to keep his eyes open, gazing past the bend in the ravine and the gruesome trail he had left in the snow during his pathetic attempt to crawl to safety. It was dark, but the clouds had cleared and the moon was out, bathing the ravine in silvery light.

He watched, hoping he would see Steve come around that bend.

Still hoping Steve would come for him. Not to save him, it was too late for that…he just wanted to see Steve again.

Bucky hoped, but he didn’t really expect him to come.

Steve had changed. He was taller now…stronger. He was Captain America now. Steve didn’t need Bucky to protect him from others anymore, but Bucky knew Steve still needed him to protect him from himself. Sure, that skinny little kid from Brooklyn was damn-near indestructible now, but he was still a stupid, reckless punk. They had fought about it—Jesus, that had only been a couple days ago.

He just wanted to see Steve, just one more time…there was so much he wanted to tell him.

So he lay there, shivering in the cold, peering past the bend and hoping to see his friend. Bucky knew he shouldn’t still be alive…not after a fall like that, and there was no way he could expect Captain America to abort the mission to go look for the body of his dead friend.

Bucky didn’t care that he was dying, not really. He had changed too. The man that Steve had rescued from Zola’s lab was not the same smartass Brooklyn boy Steve had said goodbye too all those lifetimes ago in New York. The war had changed that.

Zola had changed that.

There was a darkness in him now. Demons inside his head, reaching for him every time he shut his eyes. Steve didn’t understand—he thought everything could go back to normal.

Steve and Bucky, two against the world. But that Bucky was already dead—he had died on the gurney in Zola’s lab a year ago.

“S-Steve…” he murmured, the words barely above a whisper. “Steve, I tried…I’m trying so hard to hold out here, but I don’t…I don’t think I’m gonna last too much longer.”

As if his body was trying to illustrate that point, blood rose again in his throat and he coughed thickly. Pain, his old friend, flared briefly in his chest before dying out.

“Steve, I hope you’re still coming for me, I…I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to lay here all—oh, god.” Tears welled unbidden and he choked back a sob. “Please don’t leave me here.”

Bucky took as deep a breath as he could manage. “Steve, I know you’re gonna blame yourself. Follow C-Captain America into the jaws of death, you said, right?” He chuckled, a dry raspy sound with little humor. “Naw…to me you’ll always be that tough little guy from Brooklyn. My Stevie. I’d follow _you_ anywhere, pal.

“I love you so much Steve, I wish I could tell you that. I w-wish I could see your beautiful face…tell you one last time. I said I would be with you ‘til the end of the line…well, I guess I won’t be able to keep my promise after all. I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.

“I don’t want you to be too sad…I mean, I know you will, but please don’t. I had a good life—a great life—because of you. You’re my world, Stevie, and I’m grateful for every second I got to be with you. I wouldn’t change anything.” Bucky fell silent moment.

“No, that’s not true. That fight…a couple days ago…I said some mean things, and I’m sorry. I know you forgave me, but I’m sorry I said them…I was just so scared.”

He sighed. “I’m tired...so tired. Tired of f-fighting. I’m tired of being scared…scared of what they did to me, scared of what they did to you…scared of losing you. I love you Steve, and the only thing I pray for is that you can make it home safe…find a little, I don’t know…happiness. ‘Cause it’s okay. I’m not scared anymore…I don’t have to fight anymore…”

The world greyed out, losing its sharpness.

“I love you, you punk,” he whispered.

*

_1945_

“Goddamnit, Steve,” Bucky muttered under his breath as he sighted down his sniper rifle at the scene below.

_Man with a plan…yeah right._

The Howling Commandos had encircled the Hydra Outpost, providing cover fire as Steve climbed the side of the building. It was a small job—a simple job—and it would have been over already if Dernier’s fuses hadn’t gotten wet.

But they had.

So of course Captain America rushed in there like the big goddamn hero he was and placed the charges by hand. From his sniper’s nest high on the embankment, Bucky watched as his friend finished planting the explosives at the base of the tower, then jumped from the top of the building directly into the midst of the fight—just like any sane man would do.

Bucky cursed and fired, taking out Hydra soldiers with precision shots. The charges detonated with a loud explosion, and the tower fell. Soon, the Howling Commandos had subdued the remaining soldiers and were rounding them up for questioning. Dum Dum pulled up a truck, and they began loading the prisoners. Steve looked up to where Bucky still lay on his belly, sighted down at the ruined tower.

“C’mon down, Buck, we’re all good!” he hollered.

“In a minute.”

Bucky continued to sight down his rifle, his eyes roaming meticulously over the camp. The boys made fun of him for it—called him an old woman—but he was cautious. Where Steve was reckless and heroic, Bucky was cold, precise, and methodical.

For good reason.

A concealed hatch popped twenty yards behind the Commandos, and three Hydra soldiers scrambled out. Two started to run for the safety of the tree line, while the third aimed a pistol straight at Steve’s unprotected back. A sharp crack was heard, and Steve whirled around just in time to see the soldier’s head snap back, a small bloody hole appearing in the center of his forehead.

Bucky grimly cycled his bolt and fired twice more. The two fleeing soldiers pitched forward and fell, mere feet from the tree line. Steve glanced up at the embankment in shock where Bucky was glaring down at him, brushing off his clothes as he stood and shouldered his rifle. Bucky didn’t say a word to his friend as he walked past him and hopped into the truck alongside Dum Dum.

It was a long ride back to base.

The rest of the Commandos were laughing and joking as they always did, but Bucky couldn’t bring himself to join in. As a matter of fact, he had found it hard to laugh about much of anything lately. The darkness that had consumed him on Zola’s gurney left him breathless with fear—a fear he fought against every day. A rift had opened between the two best friends, felt by both but acknowledged by neither. He could feel Steve’s eyes boring a hole in the back of his head, but he grit his teeth and stared stubbornly forward.

The prisoners were unloaded and hauled off by the MP’s, and everyone dispersed to their tents. Bucky collapsed onto his cot without even bothering to unlace his boots, throwing an arm over his face to block the dim light. He was so tired.

“Buck.” Steve’s voice was tentative and laced with worry.

“Don’t you have a debrief to go to?” he growled back.

“It’s not ‘till later…what’s goin’ on with you?”

“Nothin’. Just tired…leave me alone.”

He felt the cot dip as Steve sat next to him. “Bucky, I’m worried about you. I know something’s wrong, but you won’t talk to me. You just…you haven’t been the same since…”

A large, warm hand settled on his shoulder, but Bucky shrugged it off. He _was_ angry at Steve—really angry. But he was also scared. Steve’s recklessness terrified him, and the thought of losing his friend was more than he could bear.

“Go. Away.” Bucky hated how his voice shook and his eyes started to burn. He fought against the overwhelming emotions and panic warring inside, his chest heaving with effort.

“Bucky, please…”

Bucky sat up, holding his head in his hands and clenching his teeth. Steve’s arm settled around his shoulders, gripping it tightly as he took deep, shuddering breaths.

“It’s okay Buck, it’s okay…”

“No it’s not okay!” Bucky growled as he tore himself free from Steve’s grip. “You’re not supposed to _be_ here! You’re supposed to be safe at home. In Brooklyn. Not here jumpin’ off buildings and getting’ shot at! News flash for ya, you may be a super-soldier now, but you can still get taken out by a bullet!”

The shocked, innocent blue eyes staring up at him made Bucky even madder.

“Why’d you do it?” he asked, his voice deadly soft.

“Wha-what?”

Bucky ground his teeth. “Why’d you do it? I had it all figured out. You…you were gonna be safe. Finally have a good roof over your head, plenty of money for medicine and stuff. But no—you’re here playin’ the goddamn hero and I wanna know why.”

“Bucky…you enlisted. You’re here.” Steve said reproachfully.

“I was drafted, you dumb bastard,” Bucky spat. “I _tried_ to fight it…to stay there with you. But when they showed me the pay, it was…” he shook his head. “It was more than I could ever make workin’ at the cannery. I was gonna send it home to you, so you could be taken care of.”

He laughed bitterly. “Imagine _my_ surprise when it was sent back. You didn’t live there anymore. You had signed up to be a goddamn guinea pig. _You_ had enlisted.”

Bucky was fuming now, and Steve’s calm face wasn’t helping. Steve tried to put his arm around him, but he angrily shoved him away.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”

Steve stepped back, clearly hurt.

“Buck…I couldn’t just let you go. I couldn’t bear the thought of you over here all alone—"

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me you did it for me, you little punk! You were itching to get over here since the war broke out! Always had to be the noble one, didn’t you? Always had to be in the middle of the fight. And when Erskine showed up with his miracle serum you didn’t even think twice about it.

Bucky was pacing the floor, his eyes wild. “Yeah…you’re Captain fucking America now, that serum may have made your body big and strong, but it didn’t do shit for your brains. You’re still that reckless little punk throwing himself into the fight without a single thought, and I’m gettin’ damn tired of saving your ass.”

“Then stop!” Steve roared. “I never asked you to! You were always just there—the mother hen—fussin’ over me. I’m sick of it! I don’t _need_ you to do it anymore!”

Bucky looked like he had been slapped. In an instant, all the fight had gone out of him and his jaw worked as he stared at his best friend.

“Buck, I-I’m sorry,” he began, but Bucky cut him off.

“No. It’s okay, I got it Steve. You don’t need me. You can take care of yourself now…you can have anyone you want…”

“Buck…what’re you talkin’ about? That’s not what I said--”

“I’ve seen how you look at Agent Carter. How she looks at you. I was a fool to think everything was just gonna be okay…that we could just go home and be together…” Bucky knew he was being ridiculous and taking what Steve had said out of context. But it was true, he was worried of losing his friend on the battlefield, but he was also worried about losing his friend to someone else.

“Is this about me and Peggy? I thought we were talkin’ about my lack of self-preservation here.”

Bucky said nothing. He wearily sat down on the cot again, his head in his hands. “Steve, I…I’m really tired. I don’t want to fight anymore. Can you just go?”

“No way. I’m not leaving you like this.” Steve cautiously sat next to him, resting his hand lightly on his friend’s shoulder. “Buck, what Peggy and I have, it’s…it’s superficial. An attraction…a passing flirtation…but nothing more. You and I, we…”

Steve swallowed thickly, overcome with emotion. “What we have is real, and I will _always_ need you. I’ve been scared too, Buck. When I—god, when they told me you were dead, when I saw you laying there on that gurney…I would do anything for you. I would burn down the world for you.”

He gently tilted Bucky’s face up to meet his and was shocked to see tears falling silently down his face. Steve didn’t think he had ever seen Bucky cry, and it terrified him. He cradled Bucky’s face in his hands and leaned down to press their foreheads together.

“I love you, Bucky. It’s always been you.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his body trembling. “I need you, Steve. I need you to be safe…know when to walk away. Not every fight is your fight.” he lightly ran his fingers through the blond’s hair. “I can’t lose you Steve, I—it would kill me.”

“You’re not going to. I’m with you until the end of the line.”

Steve pressed his mouth against Bucky’s, and it was unlike any kiss the two had shared before. It was desperate and hungry, full of fear and love and need. Bucky thought his heart would burst at the raw display of emotion from Steve. He whimpered as Steve gripped his hair, tilting his head back and deepening the kiss, leaving him breathless.

“I love you too, Steve,” he whispered, “I…I’m sorry.”

Steve sighed and gentle hands pushed him back against the cot, but he could feel Steve’s lips smiling against his own.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for…you’re still a jerk though.”

Bucky started to open his mouth to reply but moaned instead as Steve’s lips left a trail of fire along his jaw, slowly working their way down his neck to his collarbone. He sighed and wrapped his arms around Steve, content to spend the next few hours in the arms of the man he loved more than life itself.

*

Dying wasn’t so bad--Bucky didn’t even feel the cold anymore. To be honest, he didn’t feel much of anything anymore.

He floated, a strange and euphoric peace settling over him as he looked up at the round, full moon and beyond that, the stars. It was really beautiful. The breath that escaped his lips was barely enough to create a wisp of steam against the frigid night. His mind wandered, drifting through memories.

Memories of Steve.

Bucky’s lips twitched weakly and he looked away from the endless sky above him, using the last of his strength to turn his head so he could once again peer down the bend in the ravine. His eyelids fluttered close, and he pried them open.

Shadows shifted as the moon passed behind clouds, and for a moment Bucky thought he saw a figure moving swiftly up the ravine.

_Steve?_

He blinked, and the figure was gone. It was okay. Bucky felt at peace, more so than he had felt for a long time. He was ready.

He smiled faintly, and his eyes closed for the last time.

*

**_Steve - earlier that day_ **

“I had him on the ropes,” Bucky said, a tad dejectedly.

“I know you did.”

Steve heard the whir of the Hydra Assault Weapon behind them and pulled Bucky behind him. “Get down!” A massive energy blast hit the shield, knocking both men down and blasting a gaping hole in the side of the train. Zola’s voice sounded over the intercom, frantic and demanding.

_“Fire again! Kill him—now!”_

Steve shook his head to clear it as he sensed Bucky scramble to his feet next to him. The Assault Weapon whirred to life again and Bucky scooped up the shield, stepping in front of Steve with his weapon raised.

Protecting him.

The weapon fired, and Steve watched in horror as Bucky was blown backwards out of the side of the train. Without hesitation, Steve snatched up the shield and threw it at the gunner, knocking him down. He whirled and climbed out onto the side of the boxcar, where Bucky had miraculously been able to grab a handhold on one of the railings.

“Bucky! Hang on!” Steve screamed as he inched his way along the side of the train. Bucky held onto the rail in a death-grip; it was the only thing between him and a thousand-foot fall to the rocks and icy river below. He shifted his hands, slowly working his way down the railing towards Steve’s outstretched fingers as the wind tore at his clothing.

Another bolt rattled loose from the damaged railing, and Bucky scrabbled for purchase as it gave a sickening lurch.

“Steve!”

Bucky’s eyes were wide with fear as he tried again to reach the end of the railing, testing to see if it would support his weight. Steve had run out of handholds on the side of the train and reached out towards Bucky as far as he could. His heart was in his throat—only a foot separated their outstretched hands.

“Grab my hand!” He yelled, the wind whipping the words from his mouth.

Steve saw something shift in Bucky’s eyes, and the brunette’s mouth tightened in a grim line. He swung his body and grasped the end of the railing, his fingertips brushing against Steve’s for a moment.

The railing snapped.

Steve watched in horror as he plummeted to the icy rocks below, Bucky’s scream reverberating through his heart, his bones, his very soul. The train raced around a bend, and Bucky was lost from view.

Anguish and despair to a depth Steve had never felt washed over him, and for a second, he almost let go. He shut his eyes tightly against the hot tears that threatened to fall, pressing his forehead against the icy side of the train.

“Cap!”

Hands were tugging at his jacket, hauling him back into the boxcar.

“Cap, where’s Bucky?” Gabe’s worried face leaned over him. Steve flinched at the sound of his friend’s name and looked dazedly out of the open door.

Gabe followed his gaze and hung his head in grief. “I’m sorry Cap, he’s gone. We’ve…we’ve got to keep going.”

_I’m with you ‘til the end of the line._

Steve shook his head and Gabe looked at him in surprise for a moment before nodding in silent understanding.

_We don’t leave a man behind._

“No.” Steve pulled himself to his feet. “We’re scrubbing the mission. We can’t—I can’t leave him down there.”

He gripped Gabe’s arm. “We’re gonna jump at the next plateau—you get back to the others, tell them what happened. Meet me at the rendezvous point--I’m going back for him.”

Gabe nodded once and helped pull open the other side of the boxcar. The mountain-face raced by. He took his place next to his captain, waiting for an opening to jump.

Finally, one whooshed by.

“Now!” Steve shouted, and they both jumped. They tumbled to a stop in the deep snow, twisting to watch the end of the Hydra train whip by them.

“You whole, Gabe?”

“Ugh…think I broke my pelvis…” a curse, and the Commando struggled up from the deep drift. “Nope, I’m good.”

Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder. “All right, then…good luck, Gabe.”

Gabe looked at him for a second, as if to acknowledge what Steve’s mission actually was—to retrieve the body of his dead friend.

“You too, Cap,” he said, as he turned and walked away into the gathering darkness.

Steve peered over the side of the plateau and spotted a route down the side of the cliff. He hastily picked his way down, an inexplicable sense of urgency warring with the hopeless certainty that Bucky was already dead.

_What if he fell in the river? Then I’ll never find him._

Steve pushed that thought aside with a choked sob. He had to find Bucky.

He just had to.

The trail ended abruptly about a hundred feet above the ground. Deep snow had drifted up against the walls of the ravine, so Steve took a chance and jumped, using his shield to protect himself as he tumbled and slid. He rolled to a stop at the edge of the valley floor, dazed but otherwise unhurt.

He paused a moment to get his bearings, his super soldier vision adjusting to the dim light. The Hydra train had been moving fast, but he estimated they had only traveled ten to fifteen miles before he and Gabe had jumped. He slung his shield over his back and started off down the cut at a light jog, not wanting to miss anything in the gloom.

Steve followed the river, occasionally glancing up at the ravine walls and looking for a sign of disturbance. Sharp rocks jutted sinisterly against the sky, and he suppressed a shudder.

He estimated he had traveled about fifteen miles and was beginning to wonder if he had missed something. Night had fallen now, and the bright moon lit up the floor of the ravine in a sharp monochromatic relief. There was a bend in the ravine up ahead, and he almost turned back when he spotted something lying in the snow up ahead.

It was too small to be what he was looking for but looked out of place amongst the sharp rocks and bright snow. Steve ran forward, thinking it was just a dead animal, but skidded to a halt when he saw the white gleam of bone and dark blue fabric.

He knew that fabric. It belonged to Bucky’s jacket.

Bucky’s arm was lying on the ground, three feet in front of him.

Steve turned and vomited into the snowbank. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it hadn’t been this. Gasping, he wiped his mouth and looked around—Bucky had to be close.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at the arm again, the bloodless fingers curled slightly in the snow. Edging past it, he noticed a large dark patch in the snow up ahead, right where the ravine curved to the right.

A pool of blood, impossibly large, glinted blackly against the snow. Steve felt his gorge rise again but forced it down, noticing a smaller trail further down the ravine. He looked back at the gore splattered on the ground, noting the indentation where a body had lain. The outline was disturbed, following the trail of blood about fifteen yards to where a dark figure lay motionless.

Bucky.

Steve scrabbled to his feet and raced the last few yards to his friend. Bucky was lying on his back in the snow, horribly still and small, and Steve dropped to his knees next to him with a strangled cry.

_Buck…oh, god…_

Bucky’s face was turned towards him. His eyes were closed, the long dark lashes standing out in sharp contrast to his pallid face and bloodless lips. He reached out a hand but pulled it back, unwilling to feel the terrible stillness of the lifeless body. Tears stung his eyes as he saw what was left of Bucky’s left arm, horribly mangled and wrapped in a belt.

Steve started, his head snapping up.

That was Bucky’s belt, wrapped around the arm as a makeshift tourniquet. He had to have done that himself--Bucky had survived the fall.

He could still be alive.

Steve ripped off his glove and pressed his fingers to Bucky’s throat, hope flaring within him.

_Please…please…oh, god please…_

A flutter, faint and erratic beneath his fingertips. Bucky’s heart was still beating.

He was still alive.

“Bucky!” he sobbed, leaning down and caressing the brunette’s hair. The left side of his face was covered in dried blood, still oozing out of a gash at the hairline.

Steve launched into action and quickly ran his hands over Bucky’s still form, noting the wounds. Cuts and bruises, a broken leg, broken ribs and a collarbone, and—after listening to Bucky’s shallow, wet breathing—a punctured lung. Not to mention his arm. Steve’s stomach clenched, fear dampening the bright flare of hope.

Bucky was going to die if he didn’t get help, and soon.

“It’s okay, Buck. I’m here…I’ve got you,” Steve said although he knew Bucky couldn’t hear him. “I’m gonna get you some help, but I’ve got to pick you up. It’s gonna hurt…I’m sorry.”

Steve gathered the smaller man in his arms gently, bracing himself for a cry of pain and was shocked when there was no reaction at all. Bucky’s head rolled back limply, and he coughed once, fresh blood coating his lips. Steve clenched his jaw and took off down the trail as fast as he could. He was in a fight again, only this time it was a fight for Bucky’s life.

He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

The trip back to the rendezvous point seemed like a lifetime. Steve talked almost constantly, encouraging Bucky, pleading with him, making a million promises.

“Please…please don’t leave me Buck…I can’t do this without you. I love you so much…just hold on, just a little bit longer.”

Up ahead he spotted the abandoned farmhouse, a covered truck parked outside. Steve’s knees nearly gave way when he heard Morita’s coded hoot, and he answered back breathlessly.

“Monty! Monty, help—he’s still alive!”

The stunned faces of the Howling Commandos crowded around him. The British soldier appeared at his side, taking note of Bucky’s condition before motioning towards the waiting truck.

“We’ve got to get him to a field hospital, or he hasn’t a chance. Quickly, now.”

*

Steve sat hunched in the chair, sketchbook on his lap. It was a bit uncomfortable, but at least it was warm. Outside, large snowflakes had begun to fall, a late spring snow that make him grateful they were up at the large farmhouse that served as the officer’s barracks instead of out in the tents. The room smelled of antiseptic and linen, and a fire burned low in the hearth.

He regarded the still figure in the bed next to him, the pencil tracing soft lines on the paper. Dark smudges stood out under Bucky’s eyes and he looked thinner, but color had returned to his cheeks and his chest rose and fell with even breathing.

Bucky would live.

Steve shuddered when he thought how close he had come to losing Bucky. He was exhausted—the past two weeks had taken a toll on him, physically and emotionally.

They had arrived in camp after the longest ride of Steve’s life. Monty was an excellent field medic, but his supplies were limited and Bucky’s wounds were far too grave. Together they had stopped the bleeding and Monty had relieved the pressure from the punctured lung, allowing Bucky to breathe easier.

All through their ministrations, the brunette never moved, never made a sound, and that had terrified Steve more than anything. After Monty had done all he could, Steve cradled Bucky in his arms, one hand pressed to the center of his chest so he could feel each fragile heartbeat and reassure himself that Bucky was still alive.

The field surgeon that had worked on Bucky was amazed he had survived. Blood loss alone should have killed the soldier, and the shock and hypothermia that had set in later were more than enough to finish the job. Through it all, Bucky’s heart kept beating as he clung tenuously to life. The surgeon had never seen anything like it; he even noted that Bucky had actually begun to heal in places. Steve could only assume that Zola’s experiments had altered Bucky’s physiology, enhancing his durability and regenerative healing.

They had moved Bucky into Steve’s room up at the officer’s barracks, and Steve had kept a constant watch over his friend. No one had dared to question him; they were all amazed and relieved Bucky had even survived.

Days passed and Bucky still hadn’t woken. The surgeon assured him that his body was still healing, but Steve had feared the worst when Bucky developed a fever that had turned into pneumonia. He supposed it was inevitable—Bucky had lain for hours, soaked to the skin in near-freezing temperatures. Steve had held him tightly as chills wracked his body, running a soothing hand over his fevered brow. It was so eerily reminiscent of their younger days, when Bucky had been the one to hold him and guide him through the storm.

Finally, the fever had passed, and Bucky was recovering a little more each day. Steve still refused to leave him, though; he wanted to be there when Bucky woke up.

The pencil glided over the paper, capturing the long dark lashes and soft lips. He smiled to himself and picked up his smudge stick, shading the angular jawline and remembering the feel of it beneath his lips.

“Steve?”

The voice, soft and hoarse from disuse, nearly caused him to fall out of the chair. Two impossibly blue eyes were staring back at him, confusion etched in the lines of his face.

“Buck!” Steve gasped, snapping the sketchbook closed and drawing his chair closer. “You’re awake—thank god.”

The corners of Bucky’s lips turned up in a faint smile. “You came back for me…I knew you would.”

“Not gonna leave my best guy,” Steve replied, feeling his eyes start to burn. He wanted to scoop him up in his arms and never let him go, but he knew he had to be careful. Instead, he settled for holding Bucky’s hand, carding his fingers gently through the brunette’s hair.

“I can’t believe Captain America aborted his mission just for me.”

“Buck, you are my mission…always have been and always will be,” Steve said, smiling as the tears spilled over. “You had me worried there for a second, though, you jerk.”

Bucky smiled, a warm and tender smile that melted through all the fear and worry that had clouded Steve’s heart. “Punk,” he breathed as his eyelids began to droop closed.

Steve brushed his lips lightly against Bucky’s before kissing him on the forehead. “Get some rest…I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

*

_Two weeks later_

Steve walked briskly down the hall, clutching at the two pieces of paper in his hand. They weren’t very big, printed on cheap mimeograph paper, but right now they were two of the most precious things to him.

He entered Bucky’s room, finding the soldier sitting up in bed. His leg had almost healed as had his internal injuries, but he still tired easily. Bucky held up the newspaper he was reading, a current copy of the _Stars and Stripes_. It was dated May 8th, 1945.

“Leave it to me to almost get killed less than a month before the war’s over,” Bucky chuckled dryly.

Wordlessly, Steve handed him the papers in his hand, waiting while Bucky read the top one.

“Discharge notice for one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes…not exactly a surprise, there,” he said, lifting the stump of his left arm with a grimace. “Not exactly useful around here anymore, am I?” He hadn’t exactly been surprised when he saw what was left of his arm after the surgeon had finished with it, but it still angered and disgusted him.

“Read the bottom one,” Steve said softly.

Bucky gave him a long look before shuffling the papers, reading the words aloud.

“Discharge notice for…” he swallowed thickly. “Captain Steven Grant Rogers. Effective immediately.” Bucky looked up at him in confusion. “I…I thought…how?”

“My contract’s fulfilled. I’m done.”

“And Captain America? I thought the world needed him.”

Steve sat on the bed next to Bucky. “The world does, but it’s not gonna be me—not this time. There’ll always be another Captain America, ready to take up the shield. Right now, all I care about is Steve Rogers, and how much he needs his best friend.”

“You sure you want to shackle yourself to a cripple like me?”

Steve frowned. “I don’t think you’re a cripple any more than you thought I was back when we were kids. You’re strong and smart—you’ll adapt, and I’m gonna be there with you every step of the way. Just you and me. _Just us_.”

He leaned forward and gently caressed Bucky’s cheekbone as the brunette looked up at him in surprise.

“You…you mean go back to Brooklyn and live…like before the war?” Bucky’s eyes were wide and vulnerable, and he gripped Steve’s wrist tightly with his good hand. “Because…I love you Steve. I know it sounds stupid but the thought of seeing you one last time was the only thing that kept me hangin’ on as long as I did. I need you, and if that’s what you’re sayin’, then—god—yes.”

Steve reached his other hand up and drew Bucky forward, meeting his lips desperately. Their teeth clicked together, and Bucky moaned deep in his throat as Steve’s tongue slid over his bottom lip. He reached up with his good hand and grasped the blond’s hair, pulling him tighter against his body. Steve could feel Bucky trembling beneath him, and he broke away, panting. Blue eyes looked up at him with such radiant adoration that Steve chuckled and kissed Bucky’s temple as he climbed into bed with him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bucky said.

Steve smiled and pulled him close. “We’re gonna be okay, Buck…I’ve got you. We’re going home.”

Wrapping his good arm around Steve, Bucky sighed contentedly and laid his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“I am home.”

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I haven't been able to find an exact date for Bucky's infamous fall from the Hydra train, just "early 1945". I wanted these boys to have some closure, so I made it in late April, which would allow for snowcover in this area and line up with VE day. Of course, we know that there's no way Steve would have been sent home after VE day--he would have most likely been sent to the Pacific. But darnit, these boys deserve their happy ending!
> 
> This work was many firsts for me. It was my first Stucky, my first 5 and 1, and my first one-shot (a long one-shot but hey...it only had one chapter). I had so much fun writing this and it's a piece that's near and dear to my heart--I'd love to hear what your thoughts are, please let me know what you think in the comments!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [when you live for someone, you're prepared to die](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25644205) by [cinnamongemini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamongemini/pseuds/cinnamongemini)




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